Constant Reminder
by SaiyanQueenVega
Summary: Not for the first time Stanley wondered if maybe… being banished from home might have been easier.
1. Chapter 1: Fallout Cloud

**Summary:** Not for the first time Stanley wondered if maybe... being banished from the family might have been easier.

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine. Just playing in Alex's wonderful sandbox

 **Warnings:** A not-so-happy family environment and a heaping helping of self-esteem issues. But we already knew that…

* * *

Stanley Pines couldn't recall the last night he'd gotten a full night's sleep. It must have been before... Before. He stared sleepily at the ceiling above his head, still not feeling familiar with it even after all these weeks. It greeted him each time his dreams woke him though, dark unfinished wooden beams so different from the familiar sight of bunk slats and the underside of his brother's mattress...

" _Can you explain what_ _ **this**_ _was doing next to_ _ **my**_ _broken project?!"_

" _Ho-kay. I might have accidentally been.. horsing around-"_

" _This was no accident, Stan. You did this! You did this because you couldn't handle me going to college on my own!"_

" _Look, this was a mistake! Although if you think about it, maybe there's a silver lining. Huh? Treasure hunting?"_

" _Are you kidding me? Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future?!"_

" _You did what you knucklehead!?"_

" _Stanley? What's goin' on in here?"_

" _Wait no, I can explain! It was a mistake!"_

" _You ignoramus! Your brother was gonna be our ticket out of this dump! All you ever do is lie and cheat, and ride on your brother's coattails. Well this time you cost our family potential millions!"_

*Ggggggrrrrrrrrp*

Well if his dreams hadn't woken him, a growling stomach probably would have. He'd been getting enough food to keep him going, but... well, it wasn't the second helpings he'd been used to up until _that_ day.

Stan was tired. Lonely and tired. The kind of tired that came from not seeing any future on the path that lay ahead of you. There were two more weeks until high school graduation, three weeks until his and Ford's 18th birthday. Well, two weeks until _Ford's_ graduation and _Ford's_ birthday... he, himself, would simply be done attending school forever and age in a quiet inevitable march of time.

Heh, inevitable... there's a fancy five dollar word coming from someone like him.

" _And since yer too useless to ever earn the fortune you've cost us, you're gonna spend the rest of your worthless life making it up to this family boy. Now march!"_

" _Dad-"_

" _Stanford, go to your room. It's yours now. This idiot won't be joining you..."_

" _What?! Let go'a me! Stanford, tell him he's bein' crazy!"_

Gray walls, cold stone and bare save for the storage boxes lining them, greeted him when his eyes snapped open again. He felt the last remnants of spring's night chill in his bones and he clutched the blanket he'd been provided around his shoulders and curled his legs closer to his torso, hugging them to his chest. It warmed his feet and, if he were being completely honest, it felt a bit soothing. The basement was a miserable place. Fitting, Stan had decided after the first week sleeping there.

Taking a moment to silently listen to the world around him, the younger twin could make out faint footfalls above him. His mother. No one else in the household was even relatively light on their feet. He needed to get up then. Maybe he could steal a few moments alone with her. His mother was the only person who still l-

Laying here wasn't useful to anyone.

Useful...

* * *

Stanley was elbow deep in a sink full of breakfast dishes, relishing listening to his mother softly describe the latest neighborhood housewife drama while she replaced items into the refrigerator. Before he wouldn't have really cared. He might have nodded along, but he wouldn't have really listened to his mother go on and on about people that he only vaguely knew of. But now… Now being part of a casual conversation was wonderful, even a mostly one-sided conversation. He shook his head as she described the possible torrid affair Mrs. Torez three doors down was having with Sunny, the neighborhood butcher.

A reply was on the tip of his tongue when footsteps brought every movement of his body to a screeching halt. Even his heart felt like it had paused in its beating. There was no mistaking the commanding presence as it stepped into the kitchen, suit and tie already impeccably straightened, and sunglasses firmly in place. In that frozen moment Stan couldn't help but note that he couldn't remember what his father's eyes looked like. Couldn't remember ever seeing them.

Sunglasses or not, he could feel the heat of the glare directed his way. He quickly averted his eyes and went back to scrubbing the grease out of the egg frying skillet he was holding, quickening his pace. His small moment of reprieve was over now. He needed to let those things go anyway. His job, his purpose, was to make things easier for his family. After everything he'd cost them it was the absolute least he could do.

" _Fil-"_

" _ **NO**_ _Tamara! This is the last straw. It's one screw up too many."_

" _You can't just throw him out onto the street! He's just a boy!_

" _Man enough to ruin this family's shot at the big time. And he's not going on the street, so you can sheath your claws woman. Can't repay us if he skips town, can he? But like hell he's staying here."_

" _Then where-"_

" _If he wants to have a place in this home again he'll have to EARN IT! Until then he can live in the basement."_

An slap to the back of his head brought him sharply out of his thoughts. Had he fallen asleep? Again his father's tinted glare burned into him. "Get confused there meathead? Dishes ain't that complicated. Or are you just slacking off?"

"No sir," Stan quickly rinsed the pan he'd apparently ceased washing long enough to garner the man's notice. "Sorry sir," he murmured. He doubled his efforts and soon the remaining cookware was spotless in the drying rack. Grabbing a towel from the bottom drawer he went about drying and storing the dishes as quietly as possible. His father turned his attention to his coffee, his breakfast, and (most importantly) his newspaper. Having the man's attention turned elsewhere unknotted a bit of the tension that seemed to have automatically formed in the younger twin's entire body.

Through all the twisting and turning that came with replacing the dishes Stan caught his mother, who also seemed to have stiffened up since his father joined them, giving him a look that was difficult to identify. It might be pity. Which is silly, because it's just dishes. It's just Pops. It's just... how things are now.

Placing the final spatula away the teen finally turned to the additional plate of food that sat on the counter that he'd been pointedly ignoring since his mother had finished plating breakfast for herself, his father, and his still absent brother. He'd made the mistake on that first morning of thinking he could sit at the table. He, and eventually his mother, knew better now. Eating at the table was for family. And he was nowhere near earning back his right to be considered family. He picked up the plate and walked out.

"There's mail to be taken to the box again today," his father's voice drifted after him.

"Yesir." More of Ford's college financial aid applications. While Ford was smart enough to deserve his pick of nearly any school he wanted, the possible full ride he'd cost his brother was not forthcoming from other top colleges. Ford had been spending a significant amount of effort filling out applications, attempting in the weeks since The Incident to find money to attend college at all.

Standing in the entryway, next to an end table with a stack of five letters all with Ford's name on the upper left corner, Stan picked at his breakfast. He'd really messed things up for his twin, and thinking of how badly he'd screwed him over left his appetite severely dampened and his breakfast tasting like ashes in his mouth.

Sometimes he wondered if things would ever be ok again. Stanford hadn't said a word to him or looked him in the eye since That Night, and, despite being able to focus on nothing else, he still had no clue how he could fix things. Maybe he'd destroyed things beyond the point of being fixed.

Setting the no-longer-appetizing plate of food down and picking up the mail, he sighed and headed toward the door. "He'd have been better off if I'd never been born. An only child with a bright future."

Closing the door behind him, Stan never noticed the human shadow frozen in the stairwell.


	2. Chapter 2: Learning Lessons

**Chapter 2: Learning Lessons**

* * *

Stan had decided years and years ago that he hated school. Oh sure, he'd liked it alright for the first few years. Knowing new things was useful after all, and sometimes even cool depending on the subject. But when things like textbooks full of numbers, tests, and homework started to become regular parts of his life he quickly lost interest. None of the teachers seemed invested in whether or not he really understood the things they lectured about either. And if they didn't care, neither would he.

Stanford seemed to understand though. Both the material and the reason for his brother's lapsing scholarly interest. And when Stan was interested enough in a topic to really _want_ to understand he could always ask Sixer. He explained things better than the teachers, especially the why's and how's. How things happen, or why things are a certain way never seemed important to the teachers, but seemed like the most important parts of things to Stan. He could usually tell him the why's, and then he'd walk Stan through how things were done, letting him work things through and correcting him when he stumbled. When his brother helped him, things just made sense.

He'd often told Stanford that he should be a teacher back in those days. But his brother had insisted that he wanted to be a scientist. He wanted to discover new things, not tell kids about things people already knew. Stan understood that. He'd rather be famous for doing something important too...

Stanford hadn't had time to help his slower brother much lately though. Before The Incident he'd been focusing more and more on his own academics, and he'd been pouring his soul into that damn science fair project nonstop for months. In retrospect Stan supposed he should have seen it coming. Ford was meant for college, meant to leave him behind.

Now though... Stan didn't think he'd ever hated school more. He'd gotten used to the condescending tone used on him, the low expectations he still didn't always manage to meet, and the way the faculty's eyes constantly simply slid past him because he was the stupid twin. He'd always managed to mostly ignore those things because his brother was always there. Whether it was allowing Stan to copy his work or being a sounding board to his complaining, Ford made school bearable. And in return, helping Sixer with his own issues with schoolyard bullies was something that Stan felt he knew how to do rather well. He'd never dealt with school alone before.

And despite the fact that his brother was only two feet away, listening to the same dull history lecture, he was alone. He was really only attending school for his brother's sake at this point, crazy as it seemed given the current situation. The first afternoon after The Incident Ford had returned home from school while Stan had spent the day polishing all the tarnish from anything silver or brass in the pawnshop under his father's chilly supervision. Ford had been rather roughed up. And while Stan had still been harboring bitterness over the situation at that point, he'd taken one look at his brother and felt nothing but anger toward the familiar tormenters that would kick Ford while he was already down.

He'd attended school every day since.

That didn't mean he didn't loath every moment...


	3. Chapter 3: Established Buffers

**Chapter 3: Established Buffers**

* * *

He could still feel the eyes on him, and it still made him itch under their scrutiny. No wonder his brother was such an introvert.

He walked behind Ford, physics textbook under his arm and eyes downcast. He was just close enough that his presence registered to Crampelter and his ilk, but far enough from his brother that he wouldn't garner another screaming tirade about leaving him alone. It'd taken two days back at school to get the appropriate distance figured out. Needless to say, everyone in the building knew what had happened between them after that. Ford had been surprisingly vocal and even colorful as he'd hollered at him between classes until Stan had learned to just stay back.

After that the dirty looks he'd received were not limited to just his brother and father. Several of their teachers had taken to glaring at him, particularly their science instructors. The poisonous look he'd received from the principal after news got around that it had been Stan that had cost their school's star student entry at such a fancy-pants school was legendary. The man looked ready to strangle him. He'd wondered why the man suddenly cared so much, but figured Ford had been suddenly really valuable to the school, bragging rights or something, before Stan ruined it.

He didn't like that all these people around them were treating his brother like he only **suddenly** **now** had worth. Ford had always been smart, always been amazing. He still was damn it!

Keeping his eyes lowered, but subtly on the lookout for bullies trying to harass his brother, he shadowed Stanford to their next class.

* * *

 _"_ _Your brother not getting to attend West Coast Tech is a crime. A crime that you committed, that your brother will pay for for the rest of his life._ _I hope you're truly ashamed of yourself Stanley Pines, because you should be."_

 _"_ _How you have the gall to even return here is a mystery to me. There's no point in you being here anyway._ _Haven't you done enough to your brother?_ _Must you haunt him?"_

 _"_ _Doing something like that to someone who you're supposed to love… I don't know how your brother can stand to look at you."_

It was nearly 2:30 when a familiar voice floated across the classroom and pulled Stan from his thoughts. "Pines twins to the principal's office, Pines twins to the principal's office."

He stiffened, memories of that last, identical, summons stingingly fresh. The instructor's eyes slid past him and landed on Stanford, informing him that he need not return to class after the meeting. He resisted the urge to look at his brother's face to gauge his expression and instead busied himself with marking the page in his textbook (for all the good _that_ would do) and closing his notebook. By the time he felt safe to look up Ford's back was to him, hefty backpack hoisted upon his shoulder, and he was moving toward the door. He ignored the dirty look he received from his instructor and followed, still careful to keep a proper buffer between them.


End file.
